robert louis stevenson-第25部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


behind　　all　Stevenson's　work。　　Some　have　even　said；　that　because　of　this；　　he　will　finally　live　by　his　essays　and　not　by　his　stories。　　That　is　　extreme；　and　is　not　critically　based　or　justified；　because；　however　　true　it　may　be　up　to　a　certain　point；　it　is　not　true　of　Stevenson's　　quite　latest　fictions　where　we　see　a　decided　breaking　through　of　　the　old　limits；　and　an　advance　upon　a　new　and　a　fresher　and　broader　　sphere　of　interest　and　character　altogether。　　But　these　ideas　set　　down　truly　enough　at　a　certain　date；　or　prior　to　a　certain　date；　　are　wrong　and　falsely　directed　in　view　of　Stevenson's　latest　work　　and　what　it　promised。　　For　instance；　what　a　discerning　and　able　　writer　in　the　EDINBURGH　REVIEW　of　July　1895　said　truly　then　was　in　　great　part　utterly　inapplicable　to　the　whole　of　the　work　of　the　　last　years；　for　in　it　there　was　grasp；　wide　and　deep；　of　new　　possibilities　…　promise　of　clear　insight；　discrimination；　and　　contrast　of　character；　as　well　as　firm　hold　of　new　and　great　human　　interest　under　which　the　egotistic　or　autobiographic　vein　was　　submerged　or　weakened。　　The　EDINBURGH　REVIEWER　wrote：


〃There　was　irresistible　fascination　in　what　it　would　be　unfair　to　　characterise　as　egotism；　for　it　came　natural　to　him　to　talk　frankly　　and　easily　of　himself。　。　。　。　He　could　never　have　dreamed；　like　　Pepys；　of　locking　up　his　confidence　in　a　diary。　　From　first　to　　last；　in　inconsecutive　essays；　in　the　records　of　sentimental　　touring；　in　fiction　and　in　verse；　he　has　embodied　the　outer　and　the　　inner　autobiography。　　He　discourses　…　he　prattles　…　he　almost　　babbles　about　himself。　　He　seems　to　have　taken　minute　and　habitual　　introspection　for　the　chief　study　in　his　analysis　of　human　nature；　　as　a　subject　which　was　immediately　in　his　reach；　and　would　most　　surely　serve　his　purpose。　　We　suspect　much　of　the　success　of　his　　novels　was　due　to　the　fact　that　as　he　seized　for　a　substructure　on　　the　scenery　and　situations　which　had　impressed　him　forcibly；　so　in　　the　characters　of　the　most　different　types；　there　was　always　more　　or　less　of　self…portraiture。　　The　subtle　touch；　eminently　and　　unmistakably　realistic；　gave　life　to　what　might　otherwise　have　　seemed　a　lay…figure。　。　。　。　He　hesitated　again　and　again　as　to　his　　destination；　and　under　mistakes；　advice　of　friends；　doubted　his　　chances；　as　a　story…writer；　even　after　TREASURE　ISLAND　had　enjoyed　　its　special　success。　。　。　。　We　venture　to　think　that；　with　his　love　　of　intellectual　self…indulgence；　had　he　found　novel…writing　really　　enjoyable；　he　would　never　have　doubted　at　all。　　But　there　comes　in　　the　difference　between　him　and　Scott；　whom　he　condemns　for　the　　slovenliness　of　hasty　workmanship。　　Scott；　in　his　best　days；　sat　　down　to　his　desk　and　let　the　swift　pen　take　its　course　in　　inspiration　that　seemed　to　come　without　an　effort。　　Even　when　　racked　with　pains；　and　groaning　in　agony；　the　intellectual　　machinery　was　still　driven　at　a　high　pressure　by　something　that　　resembled　an　irrepressible　instinct。　　Stevenson　can　have　had　little　　or　nothing　of　that　inspiriting　afflatus。　　He　did　his　painstaking　　work　conscientiously；　thoughtfully；　he　erased；　he　revised；　and　he　　was　hard　to　satisfy。　　In　short；　it　was　his　weird　…　and　he　could　not　　resist　it　…　to　set　style　and　form　before　fire　and　spirit。〃



CHAPTER　XXIV　…　MR　HENLEY'S　SPITEFUL　PERVERSIONS



MORE　unfortunate　still；　as　disturbing　and　prejudicing　a　sane　and　　true　and　disinterested　view　of　Stevenson's　claims；　was　that　article　　of　his　erewhile　〃friend；〃　Mr　W。　E。　Henley；　published　on　the　　appearance　of　the　MEMOIR　by　Mr　Graham　Balfour；　in　the　PALL　MALL　　MAGAZINE。　　It　was　well　that　Mr　Henley　there　acknowledged　frankly　　that　he　wrote　under　a　keen　sense　of　〃grievance〃　…　a　most　dangerous　　mood　for　the　most　soberly　critical　and　self…restrained　of　men　to　　write　in；　and　that　most　certainly　Mr　W。　E。　Henley　was　not　…　and　　that　he　owned　to　having　lost　contact　with；　and　recognition　of　the　　R。　L。　Stevenson　who　went　to　America　in　1887；　as　he　says；　and　never　　came　back　again。　　To　do　bare　justice　to　Stevenson　it　is　clear　that　　knowledge　of　that　later　Stevenson　was　essential　…　essential　whether　　it　was　calculated　to　deepen　sympathy　or　the　reverse。　　It　goes　　without　saying　that　the　Louis　he　knew　and　hobnobbed　with；　and　　nursed　near　by　the　Old　Bristo　Port　in　Edinburgh　could　not　be　the　　same　exactly　as　the　Louis　of　Samoa　and　later　years　…　to　suppose　so；　　or　to　expect　so；　would　simply　be　to　deny　all　room　for　growth　and　　expansion。　　It　is　clear　that　the　W。　E。　Henley　of　those　days　was　not　　the　same　as　the　W。　E。　Henley　who　indited　that　article；　and　if　　growth　and　further　insight　are　to　be　allowed　to　Mr　Henley　and　be　　pleaded　as　his　justification　CUM　spite　born　of　sense　of　grievance　　for　such　an　onslaught；　then　clearly　some　allowance　in　the　same　　direction　must　be　made　for　Stevenson。　　One　can　hardly　think　that　in　　his　case　old　affection　and　friendship　had　been　so　completely　　submerged；　under　feelings　of　grievance　and　paltry　pique；　almost　　always　bred　of　grievances　dwelt　on　and　nursed；　which　it　is　　especially　bad　for　men　of　genius　to　acknowledge；　and　to　make　a　　basis；　as　it　were；　for　clearer　knowledge；　insight；　and　judgment。　　　In　other　cases　the　pleading　would　simply　amount　to　an　immediate　and　　complete　arrest　of　judgment。　　Mr　Henley　throughout　writes　as　though　　whilst　he　had　changed；　and　changed　in　points　most　essential；　his　　erewhile　friend　remained　exactly　where　he　was　as　to　literary　　position　and　product　…　the　Louis　who　went　away　in　1887　and　never　　returned；　had；　as　Mr　W。　E。　Henley；　most　unfortunately　for　himself；　　would　imply；　retained　the　mastery；　and　the　Louis　who　never　came　　back　had　made　no　progress；　had　not　added　an　inch；　not　to　say　a　　cubit；　to　his　statue；　while　Mr　Henley　remained　IN　STATU　QUO；　and　　was　so　only　to　be　judged。　　It　is　an　instance　of　the　imperfect　　sympathy　which　Charles　Lamb　finely　celebrated　…　only　here　it　is　　acknowledged；　and　the　〃imperfect　sympathy〃　pled　as　a　ground　for　　claiming　the　full　insight　which　only　sympathy　can　secure。　　If　Mr　　Henley　was　fair　to　the　Louis　he　knew　and　loved；　it　is　clear　that　he　　was　and　could　only　be　unjust　to　the　Louis　who　went　away　in　1887　and　　never　came　back。


〃At　bottom　Stevenson　was　an　excellent　fellow。　　But　he　was　of　his　　essence　what　the　French　call　PERSONNEL。　　He　was；　that　is；　　incessantly　and　passionately　interested　in　Stevenson。　　He　could　not　　be　in　the　same　room　with　a　mirror　but　he　must　invite　its　　confidences　every　time　he　passed　it；　to　him　there　was　nothing　　obvious　in　time　and　eternity；　and　the　smallest　of　his　discoveries；　　his　most　trivial　apprehensions；　were　all　by　way　of　being　　revelations；　and　as　revelations　must　be　thrust　upon　the　world；　he　　was　never　so　much　in　earnest；　never　so　well　pleased　（this　were　he　　happy　or　wretched）；　never　so　irresistible　as　when　he　wrote　about　　himself。　　WITHAL；　IF　HE　WANTED　A　THING；　HE　WENT　AFTER　IT　WITH　AN　　ENTIRE　CONTEMPT　OF　CONSEQUENCES。　　FOR　THESE；　INDEED；　THE　SHORTER　　CATECHISM　WAS　EVER　PREPARED　TO　ANSWER；　SO　THAT　WHETHER　HE　DID　WELL　　OR　ILL；　HE　WAS　SAFE　TO　COME　OUT　UNABASHED　AND　CHEERFUL。〃


Notice　here；　how　undiscerning　the　mentor　becomes。　　The　words　put　in　　〃italics；〃　unqualified　as　they　are；　would　fit　and　admirably　cover　　the　character　of　the　greatest　criminal。　　They　would　do　as　they　　stand；　for　Wainwright；　for　Dr　Dodd；　for　Deeming；　for　Neil　Cream；　　for　Canham　Read；　or　for　Dougal　of　Moat　Farm　fame。　　And　then　the　　touch　that；　in　the　Shorter　Catechism；　Stevenson　would　have　found　a　　cover　or　justification　for　it　somehow！　　This　comes　of　writing　under　　a　keen　sense　of　grievance；　and　how　could　this　be　truly　said　of　one　　who　was　〃at　bottom　an　excellent　fellow。〃　　W。　Henley's　ethics　are　　about　as　clear…obscure　as　is　his　reading　of　character。　　Listen　to　　him　once　again　…　more　directly　on　the　literary　point。


〃To　tell　the　truth；　his　books　are　none　of　mine；　I　mean　that　if　I　　wanted　reading；　I　do　not　go　for　it　to　the　EDINBURGH　EDITION。　　I　am　　not　interested　in　remarks　about　morals；　in　and　out　of　letters。　　I　　HAVE　LIVED　A　FULL　AND　VARIED　LIFE；　and　my　opinions　are　my　own。　　SO；　　IF　I　CRAVE　THE　ENCHANTMENT　OF　ROMANCE；　I　ASK　IT　OF　BIGGER　MEN　THAN　　HE；　AND　OF　BIGGER　BOOKS　THAN　HIS：　　of　ESMOND　（say）　and　GREAT　　EXPECTATIONS；　of　REDGAUNTLET　and　OLD　MORTALITY；　OF　LA　REINE　MARGOT　　and　BRAGELONNE；　of　DAVID　COPPERFIELD　and　A　TALE　OF　TWO　CITIES；　　while　if　good　writing　and　some　other　things　be　in　my　appetite；　are　　there　not　always　Hazlitt　and　Lamb　…　to　say　nothing　of　that　globe　of　　miraculous　continents；　which　is　known　to　us　as　Shakespeare？　　There　　is　his　style；　you　will　say；　and　it　is　a　fact　that　it　is　rare；　and　　IN　THE　LAST　times　better；　because　much　simpler　than　in　the　first。　　　But；　after　all；　his　style　is　so　perfectly　achieved　that　the　　achievement　gets　obvious：　　and　when　achievement　gets　obvious；　is　it　　not　by　way　of　becoming　uninteresting？　　And　is　there　not　something　　to　be　said　for　the　person　who　wrote　that　Stevenson　always　reminded　　him　of　a　young　man　dressed　the　best　he　ever　saw　for　the　Burlington　　Arcade？　（10）　　Stevenson's　work　in　letters　does　not　now　take　me　　much；　and　I　decline　to　enter　on　the　question　of　his　immortality；　　since　that；　despite　what　any　can　say；　will　get　itself　settled　soon　　or　late；　for　all　time。　　No　…　when　I　care　to　think　of　Stevenson　it　　is　not　of　R。　L。　Stevenson　…　R。　L。　Stevenson；　the　renowned；　the　　accomplished　…　executing　his　difficult　solo；　but　of　the　Lewis　that　　I　knew　and　loved；　and　wrought　for；　and　worked　with　for　so　long。　　　The　successful　man　of　letters　does　not　greatly　interest　me。　　I　read　　his　careful　prayers　and　pass　on；　with　the　certainty　that；　well　as　　they　read；　they　were　not　written　for　print。　　I　learn　of　his　　nameless　prodigalities；　and　recall　some　instances　of　conduct　in　　another　vein。　　I　remember；　rather；　the　unmarried　and　irresponsible　　Lewis；　the　friend；　the　comrade；　the　CHARMEUR。　　Truly；　that　last　　word；　French　as　it　is；　is　the　only　one　that　is　worthy　of　him。　　I　　shall　ever　remember　him　as　that。　　The　impression　of　his　writings　　disappears；　the　impression　of　himself　and　his　talk　is　ever　a　　possession。　。　。　。　Forasmuch　as　he　was　primarily　a　talker；　his　　printed　works；　like　these　of　others　after　his　kind；　are　but　a　sop　　for　posterity。　　A　last　dying　speech　and　confession　（as　it　were）　to　　show　that　not　for　nothing　were　they　held